


The Scones and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

by gildedeggplant



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Abby Deserves Nice Things, F/M, Meet-Cute, Pregnancy, Romantic Angst, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Steve Deserves Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedeggplant/pseuds/gildedeggplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How I Met Your Sister, or, The Love Story of Abby and Steve</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pacific Overtures

Abby Palmer needed to start getting more sleep.

She was slumped over the counter at the front of the little record store, resting her forehead on her arms and praying that no one would walk through the door. She knew she should probably stand up and pinch herself or something before she dozed off or, worse, the owners caught her slacking, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care. Not with a night shift at the Ralph’s coming up as soon as she finished up here.

Instead, she tapped her chipped fingernails against the glass display case and murmured along with the music playing on the overhead speakers. “Stupid girl… stupid girl… something something something…”

The door at the back of the store banged open and Abby sprang upright, heart pounding and mouth already forming an apology. When she saw who it was she relaxed, leaning back against the wall. “Gods. You scared me half to death. I thought it was your parents.”

Michelle Ngugyen just gave her a withering look as she flounced by on her way to the stereo. “Serves you right for playing this mainstream crap.” She grabbed for the remote, but Abby found it first and held it out of reach, above the shorter girl’s head.

“Nope. This is what your parents want me to play. If they come in here and hear some of your typical  weirdness, I’m the one who’s getting yelled at.” She gave Michelle a look of mild curiosity. “What are you into these days anyway?”

“Oh, you know. Captain Beefheart.”

“We don’t… where do you even find that?!”

Michelle folded her arms, looking even more smug than usual. “I don’t. I read about him on some liner notes for an underground punk compilation, and I’ve been using our bloodstone circle to  commune with his spirit. He’s very avant-garde.” Her eyes narrowed as the front doorbell chimed. “Oh, excellent. Here comes another discerning customer.”

Abby poked her in the ribs. “Shut up. Go hide all of the John Denver cds or something.” Michelle rolled her eyes and grudgingly wandered over to the pop section. Abby stifled a yawn as she turned to face the newcomer.

“Welcome to Night Vale Music. Can I help you find something?” The guy standing before her was incredibly nondescript. Like, notably non-notable. Even so, she thought she recognized him. “Hey, weren’t you in my Municipally-Approved Literature class or something?”

The guy beamed, and his face transformed into...something still basically nondescript, but happier. “Hey, yeah! You remembered! Steve Carlsberg. And YOU are Abby Palmer, am I right? Where’d you go for all that time anyway?”

Abby froze, polite smile pasted onto her face, and fought the urge to clock him in the face. She was starting to remember this guy’s one noticeable attribute: he didn’t know when to shut the fuck up. In fact, hadn’t he been removed from that class halfway through for trying to do a paper on George Orwell or something? She cleared her throat and went on as if she hadn’t heard that last question. “Right. It’s been a while. Anyway, can I help you with something?”

Unperturbed by (or oblivious to) her reaction, he launched into an obviously pre-rehearsed spiel. “I’m part of a group of concerned citizens seeking greater transparency in our municipal government. We in City Hall For All believe that public records should be just that - public!” From out of nowhere, he produced a clipboard, which he banged down onto the countertop, making Abby jump. “I’m - we’re hoping that the local business owners that are the lifeblood of this community will sign this petition to open up the Department of Public Records to the actual public. Shadowy government agencies no more!”

As he finished his speech, he pumped a triumphant fist into the air, clearly expecting Abby to be infected by his enthusiasm. To be fair, she _was_ staring at the clipboard as if it was contagious. There was an awkward silence, during which Steve bounced up and down on the balls of his feet a couple of times. Finally Abby reached over and nudged the clipboard gingerly back over to his side of the counter. She sighed. “Steve?”

“Yep? Be happy to answer any questions you have!”

“Just one. Who exactly are the members of… what did you say? We All Love City Hall?”

Steve picked up the clipboard and fiddled with the attached pen. “City Hall For All! Well, at the moment, it’s just myself, but I’m hoping -”

“Steve.”

“Yeah, Abby?”

“Do you know what I’m doing when I finish my shift here?”

He attempted a disarming grin. “Joining me in my crusade for greater government transparency?”

“No. I am probably going to have a Pop Tart for dinner, and then I am going to stock shelves at the Ralph’s until midnight. After that, I am going to drag my ass home to bed - assuming my brother and his friend haven’t burned the house down - and hope that, by some miracle, I will have enough energy to get up for school in the morning.” She fixed him with a death glare. “Now did you notice, anywhere in my exciting schedule, a time slot for `giving a shit what the city council does’?”

“No, but -”

“Exactly. No but. Good luck and goodbye.” She waved her hand in the vague direction of the door, but he just stood there, blinking at her from behind his square-lensed glasses. She pursed her lips and exhaled through her nostrils. “What.”

“Well, as long as I’m here, and this is a music store and all…” He trailed off, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“What. Spit it out.”

“Do you guys happen to have the original cast recording of Merrily We Roll Along?”

Now it was her turn to stare. “No. There’s not a lot of demand for lesser-known Sondheim works in this, our friendly desert community.”

“You know it, though?!” Beaming, he bounced up and down a few more times, knocking the pen loose from his clipboard. As he scrambled to catch it, he added, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“Um… yeah. Anyway, we could special order it if you want, but our supplier’s not exactly reliable.”

“Nah, it’s ok.” He was already heading for the door. “See you around, Abby! Let me know if you change your mind about the petition!” Then the doorbell was ringing again and he was gone.

As soon as the door swung closed behind him, Michelle arose from her hiding place in Easy Listening like the resurrected spirit of The Captain and/or Tennille. She glowered in the general direction of the door. “What. The fuck. Sondheim?!”

Abby felt her lips twitching. “Yeah. How about it.”

“How about what. I swear to the Spire, when I inherit this place I’m going to change the name to something threatening… Bat’s Lair, or Brooding Raptor, or something that will make it clear that we DO NOT CARRY BROADWAY MUSICALS.” This last she shouted at the ceiling while shaking her small, silver-jewelry-encrusted fist.

Abby shuddered and braced herself against a sudden wave of nausea. “Don’t wish your parents away, Michelle.” She fought the urge to run home and make sure all the mirrors were still covered. _He’s fine. Earl’s with him. He’s fine._ She swallowed. “Ok? Just...don’t.”


	2. Merrily We Roll Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gives Abby a ride home, and she lets down her guard for once.

It was years before she spoke to Steve Carlsberg again - with one exception. An exception she didn’t like to think about, because it opened up all kinds of doors in her mind that she preferred to keep securely locked.

It was an exceptional occasion in several ways. She had the night off from both of her jobs for once and nowhere to be in the morning, so she had actually accepted Leann’s oft-repeated invitation to come out to the bar. Abby rarely drank. There were very few things in Abby’s life over which she could exercise control, but her own sobriety was one of them.

Besides, when her mental state lapsed into the less-than-lucid - even when she was just tired, sometimes - she started thinking about those missing months. Not that she could think about them, technically speaking. They were a mental black hole whose edges she could just barely probe.

She could remember returning from them, though: finding herself standing, dripping wet, in front of the bathroom mirror, with a vague memory of having just stepped out of the shower before whatever happened. Hearing hesitant footsteps in the hall, and opening the door to find Cecil crouched, wild-eyed, with a baseball bat. How he had rushed forward to embrace her - then, seeing the mirror shining through the door behind her, how he had collapsed on the floor with his hands over his head, screaming at her to COVER IT COVER IT COVER IT.

So, no. Generally speaking, Abby did not imbibe.

But tonight she had altered her routine, and she was already regretting it. At least she’d had the good sense to walk downtown to the bar, but she hadn’t figured on how long the walk back home would be. Or how dark. _Shut up, Abigail_ , she scolded herself as she hurried unsteadily from street lamp to widely spaced street lamp. _You were lost in a void or something for six months. You can handle a walk home in your own fucking town_.

She was so focused on the shadows on the side of the road that she didn’t even hear the car pull up beside her. The sudden call of, “Abby Palmer! How goes it?” startled her so badly that she almost fell over.

She righted herself, recognized Steve Carlsberg behind the wheel of a beat-up Ford Escort, and found herself planting her hands on her hips and shouting an unfairly aggrieved, “WHAT THE FUCK, STEVE?!”

He was unphased. “Sorry I scared ya! You just looked like maybe you needed a ride.”

She looked around and assessed the situation. She was drunk. She was still several blocks from home. She could hear a faint buzzing coming from the vacant lot up ahead. “Yeah, ok. Maybe I do.” Steve scrambled out of the car and ran around the other side to open the door for her. _Really? For a drunk chick at three in the morning? Ok._ She climbed inside and waited for him to jog back around to his side. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“No trouble at all!” He started the car. “So where am I taking you?”

She hesitated a moment, then gave her address. While he turned the car around in the White Sands parking lot, she asked, “What are you doing driving around in the middle of the night anyway?”

He gave an agreeable chuckle. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. You ever heard of Martin Luther?” She shook her head. “I’m not surprised - I had to dodge more than a few librarians to get at that book! Anyway, he had this great idea for voicing his concerns about his community - nailed ‘em right to a big door in the middle of town! Seemed like a good strategy, so I thought I’d try it.”

Even through the haze of her intoxication, Abby was horrified. “You nailed some… concerns… to what? City Hall?!”

Steve looked rather pleased with himself. “Yup!”

“You’re insane. Or suicidal.”

“Nope! Just civic-minded.” He glanced over at her. “What about you? Speaking of suicidal. Walking home by yourself and not exactly sober, I take it. I don’t want to lecture you about your life choices, but…” he trailed off.

She slumped down in her seat and stared out the window. “I know. I know. That’s the thing: I know how stupid it is. But sometimes I get tired of being smart. I get tired in general, you know? I just want to act like a normal twenty-one-year-old - whatever that even is, in this town.” She looked over to see if he was bored or disapproving, but his expression was neutral - maybe even supportive. Surprised at her own candor, she went on.

“I don’t get to be tired, though, and I definitely don’t get to be drunk and stupid like I am tonight. I have to…” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Do you know what he looked like when I came back? Do you know how thin he was? And he was just, like, shaking constantly. I had to sleep in his room with the light on for a month before he stopped waking up screaming every night. Even now he’s pretty much a mess, but at least it’s more of a normal teenage guy kind of mess. He goes to his internship. He eats regular meals, most of the time, if I remind him.” She felt tears on her cheeks, and swiped them irritably away.

“No one reminds me to eat though.” She was whispering now. “I just want… I want... ugh. Never mind.”

Steve reached over to place a gentle hand on her elbow. They were parked in her driveway now, and she hadn’t even noticed the car coming to a stop. “No, tell me. What do you want?”

She spoke into her lap. “I want somebody to make me tea and scones, you know? I want to sit in front of a fireplace, and have somebody cover me with a blanket and feed me scones.” She snapped her head up and fixed him with a fierce glare. “Don’t ever tell anyone that.”

He looked right back at her, unblinking. “I would never share your secrets, Abby. I may have a big mouth, but I’d like to think I’m not a jerk.”

*

Inside the house, she found Cecil and Earl passed out together in the living room. Cecil was sprawled on his back, taking up most of the couch, resplendent in fishnet stockings and smeared eyeliner. Earl was curled in the other corner with Cecil’s feet resting in his lap. She thought about rousing the redhead and moving him to somewhere more comfortable, but she knew he’d rather be near her brother, even if it meant neck cramps in the morning.

Covering them both with a blanket, she wondered if they would ever consummate this tension or if they would just keep stringing each other along. Selfishly, she sort of hoped for the latter. She relied on Earl to be the voice of reason when she wasn’t around. Cecil was volatile, to put it mildly, and she didn’t picture him as the most attentive romantic partner. If they had some kind of falling-out and Earl stopped coming around, it would make her life immeasurably harder.

She sighed. There was always something new to worry about, but for now, she had just enough energy to peel off her jeans and fall into bed.

*

The next day, when she finally opened the front door around noon to go get something to eat, she found a covered basket on the porch with a note pinned to the top. Unfolding it, she read,

“ _Dear Abby,_

_I can’t do anything about the fireplace, but I dug up a recipe this morning and made these for you. Hope they’re ok - it’s my first time baking!_

_Steve._

_P.S. - You don’t have to share them with Cecil._ ”

For the second time in less than a day, she found that she was crying.  

*

She never thanked him for the scones, or for the ride, or for listening to her and being a decent human being. In fact, she went out of her way to avoid Steve Carlsberg for the next few years. When they did cross paths, he seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk.

She thought she heard him humming a tune under his breath whenever he was nearby, though. She was pretty sure it was, “Not A Day Goes By.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Glam Trash!Cecil that inspired his outfit in this scene belongs to punkrockgaia and is frequently drawn by videntefernandez. 
> 
> I don't know why Abby and Steve are Sondheim fans. Really no idea where that came from. But you can hear Bernadette Peters do a gorgeous rendition of "Not A Day Goes By" here: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kMlQgyz834


	3. The Worst Pies in Night Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby has a secret, but Steve has a way of just knowing stuff. And blurting it out in front of the whole town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update... I kind of got out of the rhythm of this one. Hopefully updates will be more regular henceforth.

 

Abby’s hand shook as she raised the fork to her mouth. The plate in front of her was actually empty and had been for several bites now, but that was the main advantage of invisible pie: nobody knew when you were finished. If you wanted to sit there, alone at your table in the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, raising the empty fork to your lips over and over again, no one would think the less of you.

It wasn’t the same as a cigarette - not by a long shot - but she kept telling herself, firmly and repeatedly, that a cigarette was not an option. Not after what she’d learned earlier that day.

Talking about it with someone would be nice - almost as nice as a cigarette, in theory, but just as dangerous in practice. She’d already run through the list of potential confidants and come up empty-handed. She pictured their expressions as she told them - Michelle Nguyen: disgusted; Cecil: outraged, or worse, wounded. Her bosses? Unthinkable. No. This was something she was going to handle on her own.

As long as she could manage it, that is. It wasn’t as if she would be able to hide it forever.

There was a discreet “ahem” from the direction of the sugar dispenser. Abby set down her fork. “Yes?” she whispered.

“Just wondering if you wanted a refill on your coffee,” rasped a voice from nowhere and everywhere.

Abby glanced at her empty cup. “Sure.” Then she sighed. “Actually, better make it decaf.”

“You got it,” said the voice, and the cup began to fill.

Before Abby could take a sip, she heard another voice - this one much closer and more corporeal. “Decaf?!” it crowed. “Did I just hear Ms. Abby Palmer ordering a decaffeinated coffee?”  

“Hi Steve,” she mumbled. It figured. It just fucking figured. It was that kind of day. “You’re out late.”

“Mind if I join you?” He slid into the booth across from her without waiting for an answer. She continued to focus on her pie, staring at the table as she took imaginary bites. Plate, mouth. Plate, mouth. She could feel his eyes on her but she refused to look up. Finally he cleared his throat. “Abby, can I buy you another piece of pie? Because that one’s, uh. Gone.”

She laid her fork carefully down on the table and picked up her mug instead, using two hands to compensate for the trembling. After only a sip, she set it down fast, grimacing. “Ugh. Decaf.” She finally glanced up at Steve. “You want it? Seems like something you’d like.”

Steve’s smile was sad. “Nah, I don’t drink the stuff at all. Got enough to keep me awake as it is.” He studied her for a moment, setting one hand in the middle of the table as if he was thinking about reaching out to touch her. She backed away, her own hands clasped in her lap.

When he spoke again, it was in an uncharacteristic undertone. “Decaffeinated coffee. Worried face. Abby, you aren’t… um… expecting, are you?”

Without thinking, she aimed a vicious kick at one of his shins and sprang to her feet. “Fucking SPIRE. Of all the nights, of all the people - “ She broke off, banging her fist on the table and glaring at Steve Carlsberg as the entire diner stopped speaking to stare at them. “Fuck,” she muttered again, and stormed out the door.

*

From her vantage point on the trunk of her car she could see the lights above the Arby’s, way off across town. She focused on them, blinking furiously as she slid a cigarette between her lips and fumbled for a lighter. Which, of course, she did not find. Because it was inside her purse, which was still sitting in the booth across from Steve Carlsberg.

She removed the cigarette from her mouth, holding it cupped between her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did everything all wrong.”

She waited like that, curled into herself, until she heard the door of the diner open again. The crunch of Steve’s footsteps as he crossed the gravel parking lot echoed though the stillness of the desert night. They were almost as loud as the tiny heartbeat she’d heard on that monitor only a few hours earlier.

She looked up when she heard the scratch of flint on steel. Steve was holding out her lighter. She stared at the tiny flame. Responding to her unspoken question, he said, “This is the last one though, ok? At least until the baby comes.”

She leaned in, cupping her hand around the fire, and took a long drag. “Yeah. I know.”

“Hopefully the last one ever, but I won’t lecture you about it now.” He put the lighter away and set her purse on the trunk behind her.

She slid over to make room for him. “How did you know?” she asked dully.

He hopped up beside her, being careful not to touch her. “I dunno. I just… know stuff. I’m sorry I just said it like that. I can be kind of stupid about what I say.”

She let out a snort of laughter and gave him a sidelong glance. “Um, yeah. I noticed. Sorry I kicked you, though. I’m - I mean, I can be kind of impulsive too.”

“Hey, no worries. Upset the pregnant lady at your own risk!”

They sat in not-uncomfortable silence for a short while, watching Abby’s smoke rings drift up into the void. Just when she was about to make a stupid joke and excuse herself, Steve spoke again. Carefully looking straight ahead, he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“NO,” she snapped, one foot already on the ground. Then she sighed and sat back down. “I mean.. no. I don’t. But I probably should talk about it with someone, and you’re… trustworthy. Right?”

Steve was silent for several seconds. When he answered, his voice was as serious as she’d ever heard it. “I certainly try to be, Abby. I certainly try to be that.”

She nodded to herself. “Ok. Well, you know that my family situation is already complicated, right? And of course I’m pretty young for all this and I have some less-than-healthy habits, and whatever, but that’s all. I don’t know.” She made a gesture of dismissal. “I can handle it. But I have this job. With the city. I had to take it; I had to take care of Cecil… and the thing is, they can call me away at any time, and with a baby, I just don’t know…” She trailed off, tossing her cigarette aside and biting her lip.

“Abby.”

Something his tone made her turn to face him, curious and apprehensive. “Hmm?”

This time he did reach out for her hand, and she let him take it. He held it gently between both of his own. “I don’t think you realize how loved you are. By this town, I mean. I don’t think anyone will let anything happen to you _or_ your baby.” He fixed her with his most earnest stare. “But if you ever need anything. I mean _ever_. Any time. You call me. You got it?”

She nodded, glancing away, knowing she would never accept his help, but inexpressibly touched by the offer. “Yeah. Ok.”

He gave her hand one more squeeze, then released it, hopping off the car and back onto the gravel. “Now, young lady, you’d better go home and get to bed. You need your rest, ‘kay?” He gave a little salute and turned back towards the diner.

Abby watched him go, a million words on her lips. All of them unspeakable


End file.
